For, through thy long dark lashes low depending, The soul of melancholy Gentleness Gleams like a seraph from the sky descending, At once such majesty with sweetness blending, XXXIV. Inscription on the Monument of a Newfoundland Dog. WHEN some proud son of man returns to earth, Unknown to glory, but upheld by birth, of woe, The sculptor's art exhausts the pomp Not what he was, but what he should have been: But the poor dog, in life the firmest friend, The first to welcome, foremost to defend, Whose honest heart is still his master's own, Who labours, fights, lives, breathes for him alone, Unhonoured falls, unnoticed all his worth, Denied in heaven the soul he held on earth: While man, vain insect! hopes to be forgiven, Oh man! thou feeble tenant of an hour, Debased by slavery, or corrupt by power, Who knows thee well must quit thee with disgust, Degraded mass of animated dust! Thy love is lust, thy friendship all a cheat, Thy smiles hypocrisy, thy words deceit! By nature vile, ennobled but by name, Each kindred brute might bid thee blush for shame. Ye! who perchance behold this simple urn, I never knew but one, and here he lies. Newstead Abbey, Oct. 30, 1808. XXXV. FAREWELL. FAREWELL! if ever fondest prayer For other's weal availed on high, Mine will not all be lost in air, But waft thy name beyond the sky, 'Twere vain to speak, to weep, to sigh: Oh! more than tears of blood can tell, When wrung from guilt's expiring eye, Are in that word-Farewell!-Farewell! |